On the Rooftop
by arosynose
Summary: Sasha has never been fond of parties. SashaMilla oneshot.


The party was loud, colorful, vibrant, and suited Milla to a T. Sasha, on the other hand, found the strobe lights disorienting and the loud, beat-heavy music headache-inducing. He didn't care much for Milla's friends, either, the men and women that looked like they'd just walked out of the 80s, garbed in bellbottoms and disco jackets and platform shoes, and 'bling'. Sasha shuddered at the thought of the tacky man-jewelry.

It was for all these reasons, and many more, that Sasha could be found alone on the roof, smoking a cigarette held in the air by telekinesis. He would stay up here until the party was over, and then he would meet up with Milla afterwards and tell her she should really stop inviting him to these things. Exactly the same as he'd done the party before, and the one before that, and the one before that. He had no idea why, but despite his obvious discomfort during these events Milla always saw fit to invite him along anyway. She never begged—not outright, anyway—and didn't force him to come either.

But every time she asked there was a little light in her eyes, a shimmer of hope that Sasha couldn't bear to extinguish with a refusal. And so he always accepted, no matter how many times he told Milla and himself that this time would be different, or that he had important work to do and that he might not be able to make it. Milla just nodded and smiled and said "of course, darling," with her exotic Brazilian accent. And somehow, despite Sasha's excuses, he always found himself back at her apartment, standing uncomfortably in a corner of the room for several minutes until he couldn't take it anymore and made his way up onto the roof.

Sasha sighed. Tonight had been no different.

Milla's hopeful face popped into his mind, and he quickly waved it away, forcing his thoughts onto something else. Anything else. Raz's training, for instance. Yes, the boy had been declared a Psychonaut, but he was by no means completely ready for the future that lay before him. He needed to be taught control, accuracy, and above all have his skills honed to perfection, something which could most assuredly be accomplished with the help of himself and Milla—

Sasha immediately cut himself off mid-thought and grit his teeth. No. He shouldn't think about Milla. Then he would end up feeling sorry for leaving the party and he would go back downstairs and face the loud music and outrageously tacky clothing and awful flashing lights and garish man-bling and Milla would be there, dancing, and Sasha would—

He froze at the sound of footsteps coming up behind them.

"Darling," a voice murmured. "Why aren't you at the party?"

"I just needed a breath of fresh air." He wondered why, this once, it felt… _wrong_ to lie.

He could feel the waves of unhappiness rolling off her. "No, darling. Please don't lie." He could feel her reach out to him with her mind and try to penetrate his mental shields, a truly futile effort.

"Agent Vodello," Sasha said coolly. "If you would please stop attempting to probe my mind?"

Milla frowned and gave up. "Sasha, darling, what is wrong?"

Sasha lifted one eyebrow. "Nothing."

Milla sighed, looking defeated. "You don't like the parties."

Sasha felt helpless under her sad gaze. He fumbled. "Er—"

"No, darling, it's okay. I know." She sighed again, and something in Sasha twinged oddly at the sight of his partner looking so depressed. He shoved that part of him away.

"I'm sorry I keep dragging you along," Milla said.

"Then why do you?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Milla dropped her gaze. "I thought maybe you'd start to enjoy the parties eventually. And…" She hesitated. Sasha frowned but resisted the urge to look into her mind.

"And I don't see you very often, darling," she said eventually. "You're always in your lab. I thought a good party would help you. They make me feel better." She smiled, but it was obvious to Sasha that she was hiding something. She had been about to say something else before, but Sasha didn't want to pry, and so he let the matter go.

"We are two very different people, Agent Vodello," he said instead. "My work is what helps me."

Milla looked away. "I know, darling. I'm sorry."

Sasha felt the urge to say something, but he couldn't grasp what it was and decided to ignore it. "I'd better get back to my lab. There is much work to be done."

Milla froze for a moment, startled, and opened her mouth to speak. She hovered there for a moment before looking away again. She nodded. "Yes, darling."

"I'll be going then," he said, but made no movement forward. He frowned inwardly. This hadn't happened before. Why wouldn't his legs move? He rooted around in his mind, trying to find the source, and failed. Not a problem with his mind then. His mind was working fine, but his body seemed not to be responding. He must remember to investigate this further when he returned to the lab. Again he felt the small twinge in his chest. Strange, very strange. He would definitely have to—

All of Sasha's mental facilities came to a screeching halt as he found himself walking forward and wrapping his arms around Milla. _Her hair is very soft_, he thought absently, _just as it looks. And it smells very nice, like flowers. _And something else he couldn't quite place.

It wasn't for a few moments that Sasha's dazed mind realized that now Milla had her arms around him, as well, and that her face was pressed against his jacket. He could feel the warmth coming from her even through his layers of clothing, and was surprised to find that this…_contact_ didn't bother him in any way. He actually felt sort of happy, smug, even, although Sasha couldn't for the life of him fathom why. It was as if some huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and a feeling of satisfaction settled into its place.

Eventually some barely-coherent piece of his brain realized what was happening and told him immediately to stop.

He snapped back to attention instantly, somehow still managing to retain his stoic façade. Milla was smiling, but Sasha was too busy looking anywhere but at her to notice.

"Sorry," he said stiffly. "I don't know what I was thinking." He finally met her eyes, and was shocked.

Milla was beaming at him, the glimmer of light in her eyes intensified to an almost unbearable level, sparkling and shimmering and so insanely beautiful Sasha couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Darling..." Milla began, then shook her head, still smiling. "No, Sasha. I'm not upset."

Sasha frowned. "But what I did was improper and could be considered—" She waved a hand, cutting him off.

"I have been waiting for that for a very long time, Sasha dear," Milla said quietly. Her eyes twinkled, and Sasha was bound by her gaze.

It all came flying into place; the party invitations, the constant attention, the worry and concern when it was utterly unnecessary…the smile that was currently on her face. And his _own_ feelings. How could he have been so blind?! A man of his scientific genius, and yet…

Well. He would fix that, right now.

He leaned down, closing the gap between his and her face. He hesitated for a moment, hovering above her for one split second until Milla took matters into her own hands and finished what he had began.

~~~

The parties after that were far and few in between, and Milla and Sasha instead spent their nights at a café, or at one of their apartments. Milla wore slightly less explosively colorful apparel, no longer needing it to attract Sasha's attention. Sasha became more open, in turn, and was much more relaxed towards Milla, who was so much more to him now than another combat partner.

The whole camp sighed with relief when Sasha and Milla returned that summer, finally an official couple and relieved of all the tension that had been formerly apparent between them.

And Psychonaut agent Sasha Nein couldn't have been happier.


End file.
